It’s A Funny Old World:
‘I’ve scraped frost off a car in LA and sunbathed in fog on a Japanese cruise’
Nina Myskow
Ishould be as right as rain, but I’m not. Packing for a break in Greece to celebrate my birthday (lucky me!), I’ve found five bottles of suntan lotion identical to the one I’ve just bought, all purchased in happy anticipation of sunshine – and all brought back unfinished. And I’m worried this trip will be the same.
I set off with such optimism, dreaming of blue skies, only to find myself wearing the entire contents of the suitcase to keep warm, and dodging showers. Someone said there is no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing (clever clogs!) but I know that, however snug I may be, I won’t be happy. Brought up in South Africa, I yearn for sunshine, check the weather app on my phone constantly to find out where in the world it is, and long to bask in it…
When I met my Aussie husband, Grant, 28 years ago, it was a thrilling bonus that I could revel in the warmth of his sunny country whenever we visited. Or that was the theory. I should have remembered that Crowded House, who sang that you ‘always take the weather with you’ are Antipodean.
Things started well on our first visit to Sydney, but rapidly deteriorated. Rain followed me everywhere, and when Cyclone Nina (yes, really!) raged through Queensland, friends joked that it marked my arrival in Australia. I was named the Rain Goddess. Back home, Grant got calls: ‘We’ve got a bit of a drought, mate. Can you send her over?’
People openly laughed at me braving drizzle one year, so determined was I to eat outdoors on Christmas Day. And once, we planned a barbie for friends in Mooloolaba, then watched in wonder as angry clouds rolled in, flooded the terrace and knocked out the electricity.
We flew to Melbourne, which had endured 40 days of over 40° of heat and, as the plane circled, we could see the parched, dusty state of the land. But, as we walked out of the terminal, the first fat drops of rain hit me.
On another trip, we endured a week of torrential rain in Sydney. On our final evening, lightning struck the Harbour Bridge. As our plane took off the next day, the sun came out.
My power for precipitation is not confined to Australia. We had a week’s holiday in Tunisia and landed in 26°. The next day, storms deposited sand from the sodden beach on our balcony. I watched the sun drying out the tarmac as we took off for home.
I’ve scraped frost off a car in LA and sunbathed in fog on a Japanese cruise.
On our last trip to Oz, we visited chums Alison and Ken, who live up a remote dirt track on a craggy hilltop in the bush. As we enjoyed the barbie under a tarpaulin (rain started as I arrived), their phone rang. It was an organic veggie farmer in the valley whom I’d never met. ‘Is your friend Nina there?’ he asked, having no idea that I actually was. ‘It’s a miracle – first rain in six months!’ He’d told her the week before that if he didn’t get rain soon, he’d go out of business.
So my powers can be a positive thing – for other people!
Watch out, Crete, I’m on my way. But, if you’re planning a parade, don’t invite me. I’ll only rain on it.